


Hard Work (and Dedication) Pays Off

by karmula



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Development, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Post-Omnic Crisis, Post-Recall, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmula/pseuds/karmula
Summary: Post-Overwatch: Recall initiative, Reinhardt assigns the two builders to design him a new suit of armour. The project doesn't quite go to plan, until it does.





	Hard Work (and Dedication) Pays Off

Seated at the desk by the window in her quarters, Satya pores over her sketchbook, each design more elaborate than the last. A candle burns low beside her pencil pot, the scent of white musk and violet rising from the wick. It is all she has to indicate the passage of time; the rest of the room is still, the moon hanging perfect and circular in the star-spangled night above.

Though the Overwatch team has provided her with much more advanced means of design, Satya has always found something about the scratch of pencil on parchment to be conducive to the creative process in its preliminary stages. Perhaps it is the sound which triggers some response in the brain, stirring genetic memories of times long past when the rub of wood against wood meant fire. Warmth. Discovery.

Whatever the reason, the smooth lines of her stylus and tablet simply didn’t compare, and would not do for such a prestigious project as the complete overhaul of Lieutenant Reinhardt’s armour to which Satya has been assigned.

Lost in thought, she hums something like a nursery rhyme as she selects a worn charcoal pencil and resumes sketching.

_Clank!_

The stillness is broken by a bang, hammer on metal. Then another, and another, followed by several harsh scraping sounds that catch in her ears like thorns.

She mutters in Telugu, presumably some expletive meant to appease the lick of rage that rises in her chest. “Torbjörn, will you be quiet? I’m trying to work!”

“I don’t hear any working over there,” the Swede replies from his station on the floor, not lifting his eyes from the fragments of scrap in his hands. Satya spins in her chair to survey him, frowning impatiently.

“Design is the most important phase of any creation, you fool. Hard-light technology will build anything in a matter of moments if it is designed to perfection. But how would you know such things? You lack imagination!” In a moment of uncharacteristic frustration, Satya loses her composure, pounding her prosthetic fist against the desktop. “I can’t believe Reinhardt would expect me to cooperate with someone so positively medieval.”

The engineer almost looks offended, but the expression passes quickly. “I didn’t ask for your help either Vaswani, or for your opinion. Believe me, I’d be better off without it.” He sighs and finally looks up from his project. “But it’s the way it is. Now pass me that wrench, please.” He indicates a grease-stained tool that has somehow ended up across the room at the foot of her chair.

She considers kicking it over to him, but decides against it, deliberately avoiding Torbjörn’s eyes as she hands him the wrench. Her actions have been childish enough for one night. No point further marring her reputation in this place.

Silence settles in her quarters once more, now punctuated with an occasional _bang_ or _screech_ as Torbjörn continues to work metal. Satya draws with one hand and massages her temple with the other, untangling the headache that knots tighter behind her eyes with each passing minute.

After a while, when her candle is almost burnt out, the architech notices the sounds have stopped. She turns around again, curious. The sight that meets her inquisitive eyes sends her jaw dropping. Out of the pathetic pieces of scrap that had lain on Satya’s rug not one hour before, Torbjörn has constructed a work of art.

He notices her staring and dons a smug grin. “Surprised?” he chuckles. “I may not be an engineer of solid-light, or whatever it is you are, but only a poor craftsman relies on his tools.”

She doesn’t even bother correcting his terminology, too busy admiring the helmet. It is heavily inspired by Balderich Von Alder’s, its similarities to the famous German Crusader armour striking. And yet it is a creation in its own right, too, burnt red in places to form embellishments that recall images of hungry flame. Its domed top reflects the full moon outside, practically hypnotising.

Satya clears her throat and straightens her spine, hands folded respectfully in her lap. “I apologise for my behaviour. I’ve been… unnecessarily cold, not just tonight but since my arrival.” She almost tacks on an excuse, _I just haven’t accustomed to the new environment yet, I miss home, I haven’t been feeling well and I’ve taken it out unfairly on you_ , but thinks better of it.

Torbjörn grunts. It sounds vaguely affirmative, and Satya figures it’s the best he can manage with a hammer in his mouth, so she nods shortly before returning to her work. She flips to a new page and begins with a broad, sweeping arc – the crown of Torbjörn’s handiwork. She continues outlining its likeness, recording it with absolute precision for later reference. With some hard light adjustments and a smattering of Vishkar-inspired technology, it will make a fine centrepiece for the Lieutenant’s new suit of armour.

The tiniest of smiles curves her lips as she pauses to light a new candle. _Perhaps this is a partnership that can work out after all_ , Satya thinks.


End file.
